


Just Another Day

by ChronicLethologica



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Holding Hands, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicLethologica/pseuds/ChronicLethologica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of these moments are fluffy and domestic, others are more mature. Following the 30 day OTP challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

When they're home, Tony is affectionate the same way that he is clever—by extreme overstatement. When he works on his tablet, his leg needs to be touching Steve's on the couch. When he passes Steve eating breakfast on his way to coffee, he'll press a kiss to his cheek, sweep fingers through his hair. When they watch movies, Tony will lie as much of his body on top of Steve's as possible. There are sneaky fingers running along the bottom of too-tight tees, not-so-sneaky hands groping the back of just-tight-enough-thank-you jeans, kisses in the workshop, in the elevator, on the roof, shoulder pats and back rubs and hair tousles, flirtatious whispers and footsie under the table.

When they're in public, it all turns off. Tony's not cold, exactly, doesn't shrink from touching Steve, but Steve's gotten so used to never having to initiate anything that he feels the lack like a physical ache. Tony's never been ashamed in his life—not in a way he'd ever show, anyway—and they've already gone public with their relationship, so Steve can't figure out why the man who's been photographed in so many compromising positions with so many dames would avoid any public displays of affection with Steve. He finally just asks him.

“Didn't think you'd want me hanging all over you in public, Cap.”

“I didn't say we needed to hang all over each other. I just, you never seemed to mind before, with other people, and with me you do, so …. ”

“Steve,” Tony's hands are in his jacket pockets to protect them from New York autumn. “Before … PDA was about showing off, proving I didn't care who caught me doing whatever with whoever. With you …. I don't want them to have it to make headlines with, you know? It doesn't belong to them. It belongs to us.”

Something warm unfurled in Steve's chest and he grinned. “Well, no clinch covers, but I don't see the press corps here,” he gestures down the street, “So maybe holding hands would be okay?”

Tony's mouth twitched up a little at the corner. “Oh, everywhere we go someone's gonna take a picture. Didn't I teach you about cell phones?” But he pulls one of his hands out of his jacket pocked and slips it into Steve's. “But I guess it's okay if all they catch is us holding hands like a couple of Girl Scouts.”

Steve smiled, knowing better than to rise to the bait. The warm palm against his is proof enough that Tony misses the touching just as much as he does.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them. ”  
> ― Agatha Christie

It’s been a quiet week, all of New York being slowly sodden by a rain that refuses to either properly storm or clear up. It should remind him of London, he thinks, but it’s so different that it’s no more than a small pang, the way everything is for being too different. He can’t even hear the rain in this building--everything soundproofed so the drops sticking and sliding on the glass are as unreal as the movies they watch on the big screen in the living room. The first-floor living room. Christ, how is he living in a home with multiple living rooms?

And right now he even has the (first floor) living room to himself--the fourth day in a row of rain has everyone retreating into themselves. Bruce had said something about meditating, Pepper had found business she needed to take care of in Malibu, Thor similarly suddenly had urgent business in New Mexico, and Clint and Natasha hadn’t emerged from their respective suites yet today. Steve looked at the clock on the wall: 2:01pm.

Steve drug his pencil over the sketchbook propped on his lap, only half paying attention to what he was drawing.

Signe Hasso tossed her head on screen. "In your papa's time, papa kiss mama and zen marry. But this is 1887! Time of bicycle, the typewriter est arrive, soon everybody speak over ze telephone, and people have new idea of value of kiss. What was bad yesterday is lot of fun today!”

Steve smiled; the two of them were nothing alike, except for the dark hair, but his hand still moved over the page. Dark curls and full lips that never spent enough time smiling, in that long coat she’d worn when they’d all been cramped and not-quite-warm in the London damp--fingers and feet chilled, but neck and face flushed from the humidity, in profile, fixing her sharp eyes on something off the page. He went back to her mouth and twisted one corner up--that way she was looking at Howard making a poorly-planned pass and not German planes.

“Steve? What are you doing up?” Steve looked up to see Tony near the elevator, hair standing nearly straight up, in a black tank and loose jeans. The workshop, then. Steve raised an eyebrow, looked at the clock and back at Tony.

Tony squinted at the clock. “Oh. I, uh. That’s p.m. Damn rain, can’t tell what time it is anymore. I just. Coffee.” He tugged at his hair and shuffled his way to the kitchen.

“Tony, how long have you been up?” Steve called over his shoulder, slowly closing the sketchbook.

Tony reappeared in a moment with a large mug of black coffee in hand. “Time is relative. Also, rain, with the--” Tony let loose a jaw-cracking yawn. “Messing-with of clocks.” He sank down on the opposite end of the couch from Steve, sprawling his limbs in a way that was, for all his apparent exhaustion, clearly a display. Steve wondered how ingrained that habit was if Tony did it even when he was this tired.

“I'm not a book salesman. I took one look at you and followed you into the store. If you'd walked into a restaurant, I would have become a waiter.” Don Ameche declared “If you'd walked into a burning building, I would have become a fireman. If you'd walked into an elevator, I would have stopped it between two floors and we'd have spent the rest of our lives there.”

The movie continued rolling, but neither of them were paying a terrible amount of attention. Tony let his head fall against the back of the couch, and Steve’s fingers itched to draw him like this--still for once, throat exposed. Then Tony’s fingers slipped on the mug and nearly sent its contents onto the couch cushions.

Steve leapt forward to tip the cup upright again. “Tony, you need to sleep.”

Tony shook his head slowly. “No, I should--there was just no more coffee in the lab and Pepper wouldn’t bring me more--”

“Pepper’s in Malibu.”

That pulled Tony up short for a second. “She wasn’t leaving until Wednesday.”

“Which was yesterday.”

Tony blinked. “Well. So coffee was up here. So I just had to get coffee and now I have coffee so I’m just going to go finish up.”

“Tony, you need--” Steve saw the stubborn glint in Tony’s eyes and quickly changed tactics. “To finish that cup first. Wake up a little before you start playing with blow torches.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed suspiciously, and took a gulp of the coffee. But as soon as he set the mug on his thigh, it began to list. Steve grabbed it again.

“Just putting it on the table,” he responded to Tony’s half-vocalized protest. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Okay, ‘cause I need that. I’m a very busy man and I’ve got to get back to work.” The second half was mumbled against Steve’s shoulder, where his head had fallen.

“I know,” Steve said reassuringly. “Just a little coffee break.”

Tony murmured something that may have been assent. It also may have been a quadratic equation. Slowly, carefully, Steve shifted their bodies back so his head landed on a pillow on the couch’s far end, Tony draping his body over Steve’s.

Steve gently ran one hand through Tony’s hair, the other resting on Tony’s back. Tony breathed a soft snore on Steve collarbone.

“JARVIS?” Steve whispered.

“Yes, Captiain Rogers?”

“How long has it been since Tony slept?”

“Sir last slept 37 hours ago, for a duration of 3 hours and 8 minutes.”

“Could you alert me whenever Tony goes more than 24 hours without sleep?”

“That would be an invasion of Sir’s privacy.”

“For his safety?” Steve asked softly. “If we got a call to assemble now, he’d be in bad shape.”

“I am permitted to override certain security measures in order to prevent life-threatening danger to Sir. Request accepted, Captain Rogers.” There seemed to almost be warmth in JARVIS’s robotic tone. Steve may not have understood how the AI worked, but he knew its purpose was to take care of Tony, and as far as he was concerned that put them on the same team.  
“Thank you, JARVIS.”


	3. Watching A Movie

Tony could never just sit and watch a movie. He always had to be playing on his phone or his tablet, working on the latest designs from the workshop. Once, Steve even caught him with one earbud in, listening to music while he simultaneously reconfigured the wiring in Iron Man’s gloves, checked his email, and snickered over his reddit feed. It drove Steve crazy that he wouldn’t just focus on the film and enjoy it. But the one time he’d made Tony put all gadgets aside and just watch the damn movie, Tony had guessed the entire plot ten minutes in, then spent the rest of the movie making fun of the actors. So Steve resigned himself to watching movies with Tony and Tony’s electronics.

But tonight was different. Tonight, less than five minutes of computer-generated images and no dialogue had left both men absolutely fixated on the screen, all distractions forgotten.

“Thanks for the adventure--now go have a new one! Love, Ellie”

Tony sniffled loudly, then looked at Steve, daring him to say something. But since Steve’s eyes were shining too, he just bumped his shoulder against Tony’s.


	4. On A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baseball is quite possibly the most boring sport ever invented.

Baseball has got to be the most boring sport in existence.

Okay, maybe not the most boring. Golf’s pretty bad. Curling was clearly a game made up by kids with absolutely nothing better to do. But baseball is definitely in the top five.

Tony looks up at the scoreboard and tries not to whine about innings not being timed like civilized sporting events. Never mind that he doesn’t really watch those, either. But Steve likes baseball, Steve likes the Dodgers, and they aren’t in Brooklyn anymore but why does Tony have a house in Malibu for if not to go to California whenever he wants?

Steve sighs. “Tony, you didn’t have to come to a ball game with me if you were just going to be bored.”

“Who’s bored? I’m not bored.” There’s Angry Birds, after all.

“You haven’t put your phone down the entire time you’ve been here.” Steve is wearing his Disappointed Face, which is Tony’s least favorite. Well, aside from Pepper’s Judging Face. Or Natasha’s Imagining-Fourteen-Ways-To-Kill-You-With-Your-Own-Underwear Face. Or any of Fury’s faces, really. But it’s definitely in the top ten. Tony raises both his hands in a peacekeeping gesture.

“Fine, fine, the phone’s going away!” He slips it into his jacket pocket. “All gone.”

Steve smiled and held his hand palm-up on the armrest, smiles wider when Tony tangles their fingers together. And really, Tony tries to watch the game. He calculates the trajectory of the ball, Tony and Steve’s likelihood of being beaned by said ball, what it would take to get the stadium rewired for more sustainable power. He taps his thumb on the back of Steve’s hand.

Steve suddenly whoops and raises both arms, taking a very startled Tony’s arm up along with it. Tony looks around to figure out what happened--the scoreboard has changed from one out to three. Must have been a good play. Also, that means another inning is over. That puts a grin on Tony’s face to match Steve’s.

To Tony’s credit, he does make it ten whole minutes before he does anything. Just little circles on the back of Steve’s hand. Slowly, as Steve focusses more and more on the game, Tony pulls his hand free and moves it down to Steve’s knee. When Steve doesn’t protest, Tony lets his fingers creep higher on Steve’s thigh, lightly dragging over the denim. Steve’s ears pink, but he doesn’t move away. Tony smothers a grin and slides his palm further up. That blush goes all the way down, and that’s much more interesting than the game.

It isn’t until his thumb is nearly touching the crease in Steve’s jeans where his thigh meets his groin that Steve finally breaks and hisses his name.

“Yes?” Tony replies, his eyes focussed on the diamond.

“Tony we can’t--”

“I think we can.” Tony brushes his hand over the front of Steve’s pants.

“Tony,” Steve whisper had a note of desperation in it “They already put us up on the screen once.”

“What, no exhibition kink?” Tony’s still not making eye contact, but he can feel a grin tickling around the edges of his lips. “Okay, we can take this somewhere else, but we’d better go now.”

“Can’t you wait until after the game?”

“When everyone’s trying to get out of here? I guess I could manage to get you to the car, blow you there in the parking lot with all the thousands of other people who are stuck on their way out of the stadium....”

“No! Tony …. Tony it’s a tied game, ninth inning ….”

“Then no one else is gonna get up and interrupt us.” He scratches over the inseam.

Steve makes a small strangled noise. “Fine. Okay.”

“Follow me,” Tony smiles and walks up the aisle. He hears Steve’s footsteps following, nearly feels his body heat he’s so close. He ducks into the bathroom and Steve is tight on his heels, even as he protests.

“Here? It’s not exactly private--”

Tony pulls Steve’s mouth down to his. “Bottom of the ninth, bases are loaded, all that shit,” Tony says against Steve’s lips. “No one’s getting up to take a piss now.” He gets his hand down between them, rolls his palm firmly against the bulge in Steve’s jeans. Steve’s hips jerk up toward the friction and Tony grins wickedly. “Just gotta make sure we’re done before the game ends.”

“It’d go a lot faster if you’d just--” Steve ends on a gasp as Tony unzips his fly and slides his hand inside.

“Just like that, right?” Tony says, biting at Steve’s neck. “Yeah, that’s just what you want. God, just look at the blush, can’t wait to get you home and see it go all the way down.”

Steve groans deep in his throat, leans his head back to give Tony greater access. “Ooh, look at that, I think you got even redder. Do you like that, Steve? Get you home and spread you out, see how long I can keep you on the edge? See how far down I can get that blush to go, how much you can stand till you beg for it? Or no, maybe we’ll just see how many times you can really go, because your recovery time is fucking miraculous and I don’t think we’ve really found its limits yet. God, you look so gorgeous like this, go on, make that noise again for me, sweetheart.”

Steve laughs breathlessly as Tony’s hand continues moving over Steve’s cock his thumb rubbing over the head just the way he needs it on every up stroke. “One of these days, Tony, that mouth--” he cuts off with a gasped moan as Tony swipes over the slit, and Tony grins.

“Yeah, you want my mouth when we get home? I can do that, Steve; you’re so big, I love how wide I gotta open up to get my lips around you.” Steve groans, and Tony picks up the pace; Steve complains about the dirty talk, but there’s no mistaking the way his cock twitches when Tony gets going. “Or I could just roll you over, lick you open. Hell, who says I can’t do both? Suck you off, get your cock down my throat, then turn around and open you up for me? You could take it, I know.”

“Tony! I’m--”

Outside, the crowd roars, the announcer’s words too muffled by the noise to make out. But right at that moment, Steve bites down on his own fist and spills over Tony’s hand, so Tony just murmurs through it to stop himself from making jokes about standing ovations. “There you go, just let go, you look so gorgeous, so good for me Steve.” He grabs the handkerchief out of Steve’s pocket--because of course he carries one--and cleans him up, leaning up for a kiss.

Steve surprises him by cutting the kiss short, brushing away Tony’s gentle touches and tucking himself back in. He looks hard at Tony. “That announcement was the end of the game.” Tony startles for a moment; Steve isn’t actually pissed that he got a handjob instead of watching some guy run around a square of dirt, is he? Steve grabs his wrist and pulls hard. “Which means we’ve only got a few minutes to get into that parking lot, start the car, and get home before thousands of other people try to do the same thing.” Tony laughs as Steve drags him out the door and through the stadium at record speed, cum-stained handkerchief still clenched in his hand. He could get used to being a bad influence on Captain America.


End file.
